It had taken every ounce of Xavier's patience, but Riven was finally dressed and somewhat presentable. He had scrubbed him clean, clothed him, and now it was time to put him back where he belonged.
In a cage.
Xavier had never thought much about his job before. It was simple. He followed orders. He killed who needed to be killed, protected what needed to be protected. He had never been assigned to guard a person before, much less someone like Riven.
The half-wolf was trouble.
And Xavier wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate him.
Who would outlast who?
He wasn't sure.
With a firm grip on Riven's bound wrists, Xavier led him through the dim, winding corridors of the underground prison. Riven walked beside him with little resistance, but the way he moved was frustrating—his steps were too slow, too deliberate, like he was playing with Xavier's patience.
As they descended deeper, the air grew damp, stale, suffocating.
The underground cells were not meant for comfort.
